


This is your song

by Queenofthebees



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 19:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16046858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenofthebees/pseuds/Queenofthebees
Summary: But he knew the sound, unmistakable as it was. And he also knew the sound of Sansa’s voice. The soft lilt, the sweetness that was as promising as spring.He followed the sound down the corridor and peered into the slightly ajar door, his suspicions confirmed as he caught sight of her at the window, her fingers plucking the strings effortlessly. The direwolves were curled around her feet, eyes half lidded with the blissful oncoming of sleep.His lips curled into a smile as he leaned against the door frame, drinking in the way the sunlight cast her in a saintly, virtuous glow. Yet he felt that perhaps her smile itself could cause such a light to fall upon the room.





	This is your song

**Author's Note:**

> Agggggges ago I mentioned how funny it was that Lyanna fell in love with Rhaegar when he played his harp and Sansa played the harp. My little Jonsa headcanon is that Jon realises he loves Sansa after hearing her one day.

At first, Jon was sure that he had imagined the sound.

After all, who would have a harp in Winterfell? The one that Sansa had practiced on as a girl was long gone, destroyed in the fires that had engulfed their home during those last few battles against the dead.

But he knew the sound, unmistakable as it was. And he also knew the sound of Sansa’s voice. The soft lilt, the sweetness that was as promising as spring.

He followed the sound down the corridor and peered into the slightly ajar door, his suspicions confirmed as he caught sight of her at the window, her fingers plucking the strings effortlessly. The direwolves were curled around her feet, eyes half lidded with the blissful oncoming of sleep.

His lips curled into a smile as he leaned against the door frame, drinking in the way the sunlight cast her in a saintly, virtuous glow. Yet he felt that perhaps her smile itself could cause such a light to fall upon the room.

As though feeling his presence, she turned her head towards him, smiling sweetly and her teeth biting into to her lip in that adorably shy manner of hers. Jon felt his cheeks heat as the thought of her lips against his flashed in his mind.

The thought was so sudden, it made him step back and mutter a clumsy goodbye. He couldn’t hear Sansa resuming her playing and he instantly felt horrid for ruining her tranquil afternoon. She had so little time to indulge in what made her truly happy.

Pressing against his door, he ran a hand over his face, trying to control his breathing and willing his heart to stop pounding so hard that he feared it would burst from his chest as the cold realisation hit him.

He _wanted_ her.

***

“What is it?” Arya asked, scanning the room for the cause of Jon’s frown.

“Nothing,” he grumbled, directing his broody stare onto his plate instead.

He was painfully aware of Sansa sitting next to him, her elbow pressed against his, as warm as her. Her lemony scent invaded his senses, making it impossible for him to focus on anything but her.

And her giggle when Ghost popped his head out from under the table to lick the chicken juices from her fingers had distracted him for a good portion of the meal. It made him think of her, sitting with her harp and singing in the sunlight.

Nymeria’s head appeared next to Ghost’s nudging her brother out of the way to get her own share of the meat that clung to Sansa’s fingers.

“You’re spoiling them,” Arya muttered, shaking her head at her sister.

“Oh hush,” Sansa returned, giggling again as the wolves rough tongues moved over her skin. “They deserve it. Poor things are starved!”

“They had a hunt last night!” Arya retorted, rolling her eyes. Yet she was trying hard not to smile.

“Perhaps they slept through breakfast,” Jon said casually, glancing at Sansa. “If you were playing your harp again.”

“You should have stayed,” Sansa replied, her hand finally lifting to the table where she wiped them on her napkin.

“I didn’t want to intrude.”

“I would be glad of the company,” she assured him.

So, somehow, Jon had found himself following her back to her chambers, where she had taken the harp.

He hovered awkwardly in the door as she sat down at her desk, her fingers strumming the strings absent-mindedly before she realised he hadn’t moved.

“Well, come in!” she said, waving him impatiently.

He grunted, gently shutting the door behind him. As he settled at the bottom of her bed, a thought suddenly occurred to him.

“Where did the harp come from?”

“Oh.” Sansa flushed, her teeth digging into her lip again as she ducked her eyes. “Harry gave it to me.”

“You’re still going to marry him then?”

“I…he has been kinder since the -”

“Since finding out you’re Sansa Stark,” Jon interrupted, wincing at how harsh he sounded as Sansa’s startled gaze flew back to his.

“I hardly have a line of suitors Jon,” she hissed. “It was a sweet gesture.”

“Aye. What does he want in return? I could guess.”

“Stop it!” she snapped, standing up, skirts swirling in her fury as she turned to the window. Her hand ran through her hair and Jon felt horrible as he saw her shoulders shaking with the effort not to cry.

“Sansa I…I didn’t mean…I just…” He trailed off with a hard sigh. “You deserve someone who would love you, treat you as the lady you are, the Queen you should be.”

“Someone brave and gentle and strong,” she murmured, giving a bitter laugh. “Father promised me that too Jon but those men don’t exist.”

“Don’t they?” he countered, feeling bold as he finally stood and stepped towards her as she turned to him once more. “I’m a modest man Sansa. But I think I fit those categories pretty well. Better than Harrold Hardying anyway.”

“You…but we’re …we’re…”

“Cousins,” he stated simply. He reached for her hand, letting his thumb trace patterns on the soft skin of the back as he guided her back to her seat. “Play for me.”

“What would you like to hear?” she whispered back, her head tilting ever so slightly as he nuzzled against her cheek.

“What were you playing the other night?” he asked.

“I wrote that one,” she replied, cheeks flushing when his eyebrows rose in surprise. “A Dream of Spring.”

“I liked that one,” Jon said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Marry me Sansa.”

She took a sharp breath, that nervous bite back once more and Jon wanted nothing more than to bite those full lips himself, to hear her sigh and moan against his mouth.

“You’d take a woman accused of murder, accused of being a whore as your wife?”

“As long as you don’t plan on murdering me,” he quipped. “And you’re no whore Sansa. Although, I’m more than willing to show you how good it can be.”

Her eyebrows rose in curiosity, her wide eyes flickering to his. “How would you do that?”

Jon grinned, his hand slipping to her thigh and squeezing with promise. “Marry me Sansa. And I’ll show you. You’ll wonder why you ever wanted to marry anyone else, I promise.”

She giggled despite herself, her hand reaching down to squeeze his. “Big words.”

“That’s not all that is big.”

Sansa laughed, moving so her head was dangerously close to his, her mouth within millimetres of his own. “Tormund disagrees.”

He swallowed her laugh with a growl and a kiss, his hands curling into her hair. Sansa sagged in his arms, her own hand reaching to grip his arm for purchase.

“Will you kiss me like that when we’re married?” she asked as he moved back, brushing his nose with hers.

“Aye,” he replied, swallowing thickly. “And you’ll get other kisses as well. Ones I’m sure you’ll enjoy even more.”

“Well then,” she purred as she stood and pulled him to his feet. “I accept your proposal.”

Jon smiled, placing another gentle kiss against her lips, his hands gently caressing her hair back, away from her face. For a moment, he just stood and stared at her, drinking her in as she smiled at him, her eyes full of hope, the way he remembered her being.

A dream of spring, he thought vaguely, was a very apt name for Sansa to call her song.


End file.
